Spirits of the Earth: The Complete Series: (A Post-Apocalyptic Series Box Set: Books 1-3) by Milo Fowler (paper ebook reader .TXT) 📕

"Why now?" I murmur as bodies press past me in the dark to descend from the hilltop and head down, back to the Homeplace as fast as they can.

"You're harboring a fugitive." Bishop means himself, of course. He gets to his feet and shoulders his rifle. He doesn't join the others in their descent. He seems to be awaiting orders from me.

I pray that Victoria and the rest of our people are all right, that they somehow survived the blast. It's difficult to comprehend what's happened. That while seeking to eliminate one threat, another has reared its head against us. That we could return to the Homeplace to find no one alive.

That the nine of us and Milton...may be the very last.

"Margo," I call down to her as I begin to follow the others. Bishop is right behind me. "Tell Milton—"

"He's on his way." She jogs toward me, her silhouette recognizable. "And he's got company."

Daemons, her voice echoes in my mind. Plenty of them.

"Everyone, back into position! Quickly!" I shout, rushing down the grade to stop them. When I grasp the cold metal of Samson's arm, he resists.

"Luther, we have to go home," he rumbles. "They need our help."

"We will," I assure him. "But the daemons will overtake us on foot. We must hold the higher ground and hit them hard."

He nods with reluctance. "Then we'll take their jeeps to the Homeplace."

I'm glad he foresees our victory. I squeeze his arm, unsure whether he can feel the pressure. "We can do this."

"Hell yeah." He stomps toward the hilltop where everyone else is taking their positions, rifles at the ready.

Milton swoops down from the sky and lands beside me, facing east. Toward the Homeplace. "I should—"

"Go, Milton. Help them as only you can." I give him a push, and he nods, returning to the sky and disappearing into the distance.

With his superhuman speed, he will arrive in a matter of seconds. Once there, he will triage the situation, moving in a blur as he tends to those most in need of care first, whipping through the broken rock and rubble to save as many lives as he is able. Anyone who is trapped will have to wait for Samson.

Again, I pray...

"Here they come," Shechara announces as I take my place beside Bishop, my rifle aimed at the cracked hardpan below. "Three jeeps, twelve daemons, approaching full-speed from the northwest."

"Keep your heads down," Bishop advises, "and don't start shooting until you see the yellow of their eyes."

We will wait for them to get close. Once we start firing, they will either back off, split up and circle our hilltop, or launch a grenade or two toward our vicinity.

"Concentrate your fire on any jeep with a rocket launcher." I try to control my breathing as my pulse races.

"What if all three do?" Justus pipes up.

"We hit 'em all hard," Samson growls, glancing at me.

I nod grimly in the early morning light, enough for those of us without Shechara's special eyes to see by. I notice her looking over at Samson, and he returns her gaze. A meaningful look, from one who cares deeply for another. He may even love her; I would not be surprised. Lately the two of them have been spending more private moments together. She smiles faintly at him now, and he nods before they both return their attention to our visitors.

The solar jeeps approach, tires kicking up dirt and gravel. Margo keeps track of how many daemons we have targeted by entering the minds of our people and seeing what they see.

Six headshots lined up, she reports silently as her thoughts join with mine.

We do not fire yet. Not until we can take out more than half of them with our first salvo.

She nods, relaying that message to the others—to all of us. Wait...

"Grenade launcher," Shechara whispers as soon as she spots the weapon, "second jeep."

Bishop glances at me. I nod.

"Fire!" he shouts.

Rifles erupt from the western and northern sides of our vantage point, with Shechara, Samson, Justus, and Margo firing at will in automatic bursts.

Rocket-launcher neutralized, Margo reports, along with four mutants. That jeep is ours.

Leaving two vehicles, and eight daemons.

"Here they come." Bishop releases a short burst as the lead jeep swerves around our side of the hill.

He hits the driver in the side of the head with a splatter of black blood across the windshield, killing the daemon instantly. The other three in the vehicle unleash a fierce barrage on our position, and we duck behind the boulders as their rounds chip the granite, choking the air with bits of rock and dust.

The third jeep is retreating, heading back the way they came. They're moving out of range.

"I've got them," Shechara says, her aim steady, her eyes focused on the retreating daemons. She squeezes the trigger of her assault rifle in a calculated semi-automatic rhythm, one round at a time, shifting her position slightly with each shot.

Four headshots. Margo is impressed. Mutants neutralized. Another jeep is ours.

I give her a nod and gesture for Samson to join Bishop and myself as we cower under fire. He lumbers toward us, shielding his torso and face with his metal arms. The daemons' rounds ricochet off his mechanical limbs and smack into the boulders on either side of him. He doesn't bother to duck for cover.

"Look out below!" he booms.

Then he slams his arm against the boulder on his right, sending it sailing through the air. When it strikes the ground, it bounces and rolls like a massive bowling ball of solid granite, blocking us completely from the daemon's gunfire before smashing into their vehicle and throwing the creatures out of their seats. Bishop and I gun them down where they land.

"All twelve mutants have been neutralized," Margo reports aloud. "Two jeeps in working order. Every one of us uninjured and accounted for."

Samson gives me a direct look. "Now we go home," he rumbles.

11 Sera22 Years